


Triumphant Malaise

by Koroshimasu



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Captain Fowler - Freeform, DPD universe, Gavin's oblivious, Imagination, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Matter of Life and Death, Mentions of Hank, Murder Husbands, Nines is insane, Oneshot, Perkins - Freeform, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Violence, The Author Regrets Nothing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, sex and violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21544303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koroshimasu/pseuds/Koroshimasu
Summary: Nines spends another day at the DPD contemplating murder.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Triumphant Malaise

**Triumphant Malaise**

Two parts malice measured and sliced thinly. Hatred diced fine, laced with bitterness, then added slowly to a simmering pool of wrath. Thus is my life carefully stirred and ladled drop by drop into vials and flasks within the confines of my imagination and alter ego. I dismiss the errant new recruits constantly tormenting me with their ridiculous questions. I justifiably threatened to dismiss and reprimand them in harsh ways, as was the game in abuse of power.

The day moved at a snail’s pace. Counting one-thousand seven-hundred sixty-five, counting one-thousand seven-hundred sixty-six…

Hall patrols are less of a burden than my other duties. The silence I am granted then is precious, and I savor every shallow breath of mine that echoes in the still corridors in the late evenings. I begin my journey in the basement of course, continuing up through each floor above. For the first part of my shift, the only wanderer I encounter is Lieutenant Anderson, and we salute in passing, fellow killers in the darkness. I creep through the Archives Room, past the realm of the hopefully sleeping Captain Fowler in his office, and reach the hallway leading to the Break Room before anything or anyone out of place catches my attention. A gentle cough, followed by a sigh hits my powerful audio receptors. Reed, probably. I lost track of how many times I’ve been forced to awaken him from his lazy ‘cat naps’ so he could return back to work. I often find him slumped over a stack of parchment and coffee mugs, since Fowler decided to entrust him with closing the labs a few nights a week. The smudges of ink decorating his embarrassed face are almost as amusing as his startled expression and carefully controlled but unconcealed anger when I take my time purposefully being cold and dismissive towards him.

I walk to the door silently, but before I open it, I hear voices.

“Come on, Perkins! Lighten up!”

I check about the barren halls, examine the unwarded door, choosing then on opening it slowly.

Perkins’ answer is low and uneven. “My ass is getting the boot because of you. Filthy fuckin’ bitch!”

Reed sits at one of the tables near the Break Room, both hands placed flat on the surface in front of himself. Perkins stands with his back to me, arm held shaking in front of himself.

“Perkins! Listen! I’m sorry for what happened, but you don’t—”

“Enough!” His voice breaks over the word, but he has enough strength to hold his gun steadily towards Gavin and begin the life altering process that is so irreversible.

The monstrous thing within me lashes out, and I’ve killed him before he can form the next syllable. My knife knows the way to his innards, and I need not guide its dreary path. His body hits the chair in front of him during its descent to the floor, twisting into an unnatural position, his head lolling until his dark eyes stare through me. I’ve killed him, the friend whose meeting I clearly remember, the pretty doll of a child-like soul and innocence that delighted in his first laughter shared, the youth whose education and growth into manhood was my responsibility upon training all the new recruits.

His last breath is drawn back out of him in a low death rattle as my own respiration deepens. His face pales lighter than the raven-colored locks hanging in his still eyes, the blood draining from the capillaries just underneath his skin, and my own face flushes in response. I see myself in him, a mere innocent fool who has done little wrong in his short life besides having the misfortune to be born in a society that taught him to hate. I feel the cells of his body die one by one, decomposition accelerated, each a small spark feeding the inferno of pleasure taking hold in every part of my body. His muscles stiffen in the flex of rigor mortis as the power hums through me, igniting every nerve ending in an explosion that whites out my vision and dries the tears in my eyes.

When I float back to myself, partially wrapped in euphoria, I see the man in front of me. He turns his attention from the broken child that he once was at my feet to me. He is the first innocent to directly witness a murder of mine, and certainly one of the few to observe my enjoyment of it. I see his blood on my hands open at my sides, the tear tracks glistening on my cheeks that contrast with my pupils dilated in ecstasy. I feel his gaze scouring every inch of me, and dare not move in the judgment. He steps toward me around the table and rapidly cooling corpse of my colleague to stand a pace away, still calculating. I close my eyes until I feel a light touch on my cheek. I open them as he turns my head towards himself, forcing my eyes to his own.

The acceptance I find there is nothing I have ever experienced. There is no disapproval or reproach in his gaze, nor controlling promise of more carnage to come. His eyes are as bright as upon a newly brewed concoction or solved algebraic equation. He steps closer, breaking eye contact with me only when his head lowers to my chest and his arms come around to hold me tightly.

Could he feel the thrum of my thirium pump echoing for his sake?

His embrace is answered with a joyful cry by the beast inside me, and together we hunger for the warmth of the small form pressed to me.

There are no words to describe how much I envy my deviancy right now as I engage in basking in Gavin’s glory. A book was lying face up across his torso, the upper corner of the binding just beneath his right breast. Even in sleep he handles the book carefully, one hand splayed delicately over it to prevent its fall from that sacred place. His fingers are arranged perfectly; his index finger just grazes the indent of the last letter of the title, his pinky lightly covers the silver script of the author’s initials, with the two remaining fingers spaced evenly across the leather of the cover. His thumb fondles one of the raised ridges of the binding, and his palm curls around the right angle made by book’s top and side. His other hand is occupied with marking the last page he read, somewhere around the hundredth page, if my guess is correct, and though I am concerned for the two fingers holding space between the pages, as the book is hardly featherweight, his determination not to let slumber interfere with his thirst for pretending he was engaged in work and research captivates me; when he wakes, he fully plans on resuming his perusal of the more painfully obvious evasive tactics of the world of human socialization and conduct right where he left off. The display of his passion for what I teach, I can see in him and comment on vigorously. It sparks a pleasure in me entirely inappropriate for its innocence. I have never witnessed a more beautiful sight than the god draped over the couch in my sitting room clutching one of the most advanced texts I own; I believe I am jealous of the piece of furniture as well.

His head is elevated on top of one of the cushions, his face tipped toward me slightly. The rebellious mass of thick hair in shades of brown, though less in length than recent years and slightly more tamed because of it, rests pulled above his left temple; he must have moved from when he first laid his head down. I watch the slow rise and fall of his chest, timed with that of the book below them. My gaze slides down his stomach to the edge of his dark shirt, which bunches up enough to reveal a sliver of pale flesh between it and the top of his loose slacks. With much effort, I continue my sweet journey of observation over his firm hips and thighs and what lies between, down past his knees and calves to his feet, which, encased in cheap footwear bearing the name ‘Reebok’ hang over the edge of the couch to avoid soiling it, though I would not have minded in the least. I do not dare breathe as I draw closer and kneel before the space on the couch between his shoulder and angled head. Slowly, I lean against the sofa, my right hand gripping the cushion by his knees, my left clasping the carved wooden leg, the bottom of the frame hitting me mid-thigh. With utmost care and almost imperceptible movement, I lower my forehead to the cloth surface, almost but not quite touching him, letting my eyes slip shut as I reach out to the form of beauty in front of me with my other senses.

Counting one, counting two…

My reaction to his presence is as shameful as it has been predictable these past few weeks since I killed the pride of my colleagues, and I press my body harder into the couch’s frame. I can feel his warmth across the hair-width distance between us, hear the rustle of cloth across skin with each slow breath, the soft double thump of his heartbeat coinciding with the waxing and waning of the heat in my loins. I imagine what it would be like to run my fingers over the rough fabric of the crease in his jeans on the inside of his leg, and my left hand bites into the wood of the post.

My inhalation is deep but still silent as I take in the subtle mix of scents emanating from his body. Although a heavy smoker, he’s used a dash of spicy ‘Axe’ on his skin. It blends with the hint of vanilla in his hair and the sweetness of the apple that I’d given him earlier on his breath. That he smells edible is a fact I do not miss, and I itch to taste everything he has to offer. But this is a task not to be rushed, as there is a very large risk of waking him. I raise my head and open my eyes to begin searching for the spot I will permit myself to touch. The base of his throat is enticing, but the collar of his shirt may impede my enjoyment of it. The memory of his pulse brings my attention to his jugular and I decide on the hollow just beneath his jaw.

My approach is cautious as I stop breathing, and I close the tiny remaining space with my tongue, settling gently at first on the lightly pulsating skin. The flavor and feel are exquisite; I can’t bring myself to move for the first few seconds. I brush across his throat and the combined sensations of his heartbeat and the texture as my tongue slides over his flesh force me painfully into the hard frame of the couch.

What would it take to sink my teeth into his jugular? Tear it apart as I came instantly from the warm feeling of his blood splattering over my face? It would be the best sexual, violent union. He would cum blood, I would just cum…

Counting fifty-nine, counting sixty…

The time I’ve allotted myself is at an end, and I withdraw, composing myself, carving this moment into my memory.

“Detective Reed.”

He stirs, but does not yet wake. I repeat his name, raising my voice just enough to draw his out of sleep’s embrace, and am rewarded by the welcome in his bright eyes as he looks at me. His expression soon grows troubled as he realizes where he is, and the welcome is replaced with anxiety.

“Shit…Nines?”

I still him with a raised hand and the friendliest smirk I’ve ever granted anyone.

“No need to get up so quickly, Detective. I forgive you for your creative use of my couch. However, as it happens to be well past midnight, I must insist on escorting you outside to your car so you can head home.”

He would disappear.

He smiles in return, and sits up, dropping the book to his lap. He glances down at it, his hand still keeping the page, and back up to me, and I read the question in his eyes without the aid of my superior powers.

“Captain Fowler isn’t aware, and this secret shall remain between us.” He knows I am referring to the murder of Perkins.

His eagerness at my response stokes the fire in my belly, threatening my impassive countenance as I guide him out of the DPD. The trip to the parking lot is comfortably silent save for him when he tripped on a dip in the sidewalk, necessitating a steadying hand on the arm. I rejoice inwardly at his gratitude and the complete lack of flinching or unease at my touch. I bid him goodnight content with the promise of the morrow, and make my way back to my own car.

I would have snatched the life right out of him then and there, but he meant much more to me.

I’ve experienced what was by far the best single minute of my life tonight, and it will banish the cold and loneliness for as long as I hold it in my mind. To Hades with guilt; I will do everything in my power to repeat it.

I will kill for him now, though he knows it not, and I will kill him, later.

The time has yet to ripen, but when it so happens, I will be ready.

…….

“Nines?? Nines?? NINES!! HEY! DIPSHIT! HELLOOOO???”

Nines opened his eyes and found the bane of his existence waving a hand in his face, eagerly trying to catch his attention. Fixing him with a steady glare, Nines hissed icily, “What do you want, Reed? I was busied with something!!”

Rolling those blue-grey eyes, Gavin retorted as he cupped both hands around his mouth and announced, “EARTH TO NINES! EARTH TO NINES! WE GOT OURSELVES A CASE OF A B AND E! TIME TO GET YOUR ASS MOVIN’, LET’S GO!!!”

His eyes tracked the detective’s short frame and form as he led the way across the bullpen, and when he paused, turned around and threw a nasty scowl in Nines’ direction, the android held up a hand.

“I’m right behind you, Reed, no need to call me a ‘useless piece of plastic’ again.”

Placing a cigarette between his teeth, Gavin asked, “So, what were you doin’ anyway? Thinkin’?”

“Affirmative.” The truth always came out so effortlessly.

With mild interest, Gavin asked, “Oh yeah? About what?”

While he toyed with his tiny lighter, Nines stood and faced him directly. He was unable to prevent the sadistic, sinister smile from eating away at his face and breaking down his reserved demeanor.

“Believe me, detective, you wouldn’t want to know.”

**~END~**


End file.
